


Missing An E

by TargaryenSlytherin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TargaryenSlytherin/pseuds/TargaryenSlytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For science.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing An E

**Author's Note:**

> Not completely satisfied with this, but here it is :)

“An E would be rather appropriate,” Sherlock grumbled. Why he was wasting his time and brain on a website like this was beyond him, really. It was Molly’s fault and he decided to be slightly grumpy tomorrow when he saw her. ‘You and John are quite popular there’ she had said. He pulled a face. Actually he was more annoyed with himself that he was too desperately in love with John to keep himself from possibly seeing John next to himself on a website on the internet that could, admittedly, be very useful from time to time.

He also had to admit, this “fan art” of them dancing together did make him sad. John didn’t even know he liked to dance. What if he had wanted to dance then? Sherlock sometimes already felt like the Beast in the Beauty and the Beast. And he would never be Adam.

Or what if he wouldn’t have wanted to dance?

He didn’t know which option was worse, so he had kept it to himself. John did dance with Mary, that one time. While Sherlock was still gone. He never got the first dance with his soldier.

He moved the cursor to click on the person’s blog and found himself staring at a post stating quite clearly that a male’s lip color matched the head of his penis. He briefly recalled John’s lips before pushing them away and moved to exit this ridiculous blog when he saw a button labelled “Johnlock”.

Their names. Together.

And he clicked on it. And his eyes widened.

Tumblr had surprised the world’s only consulting detective.

People he had never met spent their time drawing Sherlock Holmes and his soldier. Some were even sketches of pictures that had been in the newspaper from time to time. The deer stalker was popular, for some reason.

There were pictures of John lying in his arms, some realistically drawn, some less so, and every single one was a punch in the gut. Except, he realized, he really could not deduce how realistically drawn they were. He had only had the privilege once, very briefly, and that had been on a pavement in front of a building, before John had been forcefully removed, and he had not allowed himself to enjoy it. His friends’ lives had depended on it.

Sometimes they depicted him lying in John’s arms, and some of them were annoyingly off; this, he knew. He had seen it many times. There was a special room for that in his mind palace. He tried not to open that door too often. It was painful and the most splendid feeling in the world.

Here and there he caught a glimpse of John’s red boxers and the lump in his throat grew as he tried to swallow. His eyes always lingered on John’s lips before trailing away to the next picture.

Sherlock clicked on a small arrow that indicated page 2 and found himself face-to-screen with images of John fucking him against a wall, on a table, even in the taxi cab – he quickly clicked the browser into the background, heart hammering, head not entirely as clear as it usually was. He glanced at the door, suddenly paranoid that John would come in and that he had done something wrong. Or that he would ask him questions. It took Sherlock several seconds to realize that his hands were gripping the sides of the table tightly, but no doubt John would’ve spotted it straight away.

“No, no, mind palace,” he closed his eyes, dragging his unwilling hands away from the table.

“Mind palace, mind palace,” he muttered.

And there he was, walking towards that door again. Sherlock tore out of his mind palace suddenly, but the pain had already invaded his heart. He was also slightly annoyed at himself for his slowly growing erection throughout the entire process.

Breathing slowly, he opened the browser once more, with the decision to click away the pictures and never look at them, _ever_ , again. He would have to stare at them every night anyways, they were sure to be burned into his mind palace now. Slowly invading every corner of it.

But he couldn’t stop himself from clicking that arrow 3 more times until he thought he heard Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs into the apartment that was empty except for him, and he panicky closed the entire browser and snapped the laptop shut without bothering to shut it down.

After sitting on the edge of his chair, posed to flee from a chase he didn’t know he was taking part in, he abruptly stood and bustled around, deciding to make coffee for once and electing to ignore his still throbbing genitals.

When John came home he found three origami doves waiting for him, scattered all around the door and a disheveled Sherlock crouched in the corner furiously typing away, maybe writing another post about tobacco types.

“Sherlock?” he said, bending down to pick up the napkins-turned-doves, “you alright?”

Head ever so slightly turned to the right. Like always. Sherlock’s nostrils flared slightly, and he glanced up sideways.

“Hello,” he squeezed out hoarsely.

“Did the doves help you solve cases?”

“The doves helped me get over some obvious cases that the key person always seems to be completely ignorant of, it’s rather irritable. People never use their brains.”

Then he ruffled his eyebrows slightly, but John dismissed it.

“Alright then,” he responded and padded to the kitchen. A slight limp, he probably hadn’t even noticed it. Out with Mary, probably. Where else would he have been? Home at 221b with Sherlock? No.

“Had a good time with Mary?”

“Yeah, it was fine.”

“I know.”

“You always seem to know.”

Sherlock’s eyes darted to the right briefly before fixating on the laptop screen again. He hadn’t solved any cases today, in fact. He still hadn’t been able to solve his own case. He was still just as stupidly in love with his best friend who was getting married in 3 weeks. And he wasn’t marrying Sherlock. A physical embodiment of a human error. More proof of it.

“You made coffee, Sherlock?”

He jerked his head up, slightly dazed. “Yes.”

“You nearly never make coffee. You made me coffee once, during the Baskerville case. To drug me, you cock,” he smiled fondly before turning around to wash up the cup that Sherlock, of course, hadn’t washed up. Perhaps he had enjoyed being drugged, Sherlock could relate to that. His smile had put a smile on Sherlock’s face too and Sherlock was pretty sure it was a goofy one and silently thanked Whoever Was Perhaps Up There Who Better Be Looking After Redbeard Or Else My Brother Will Destroy Your Non-Existance that John had turned around before he had seen the goofy smile. He avoided looking at the laptop screen so he wouldn’t have to see himself grinning like that, but the smile didn’t last long anyways.

John had turned around to hide his goofy smile as he washed up Sherlock’s cup. Sherlock usually was a stickler for only drinking coffee out of one particular mug, but today it was one of John’s. He decided not to mention it.

“John?”

He sounded slightly under pressure. The same way he had torn the explosives off John’s body.

“Yeah, Sherlock?”

“You’re a doctor. I need a professional opinion. I found a – blog post on the internet stating that the pigmentation of a male’s lips is identical to the pigmentation of his glans. Perhaps meatus, the post wasn’t very clear on that.”

John stopped and turned halfway to glance at Sherlock, eyebrows slightly furrowed and unwilling to admit that he had to fight a strong urge to take a close and obvious look at Sherlock’s lip pigments.

“I’m not that kind of doctor, Sherlock.”

Sherlock scraped back his chair, hesitated momentarily, and then strode over to the baffled Army Doctor.

“Are you – _Sherlock_ , I’m _engaged_ for God’s Sake, don’t even suggest – “

“For science … John – “

“You – “

Sherlock took a step back and spread his arms, holding his palms flat out towards him.

“Fine okay, you do it.”

“Sherlock.”

“Science, John.”

“Sher – “ John broke off as Sherlock suddenly backed away.

“No, no – sorry. No, sorry, forget it. Please. Sorry,” and he hurried away.

Three sorry’s in one uttering. A record for that cocky smartarse. Cocky.

“Sherl … Sherlock, wait.”

He trudged after him and caught the end of his robe just before it could vanish through the doorway into Sherlock’s bedroom, and he pulled him back. Sherlock was whirled around and looked down to see John looking right into his eyes, and he knew then that his secret was out. Just like he was, now.

“For science, okay, Sherlock?” John mumbled as he tugged Sherlock’s head down by his collar, trying to reach him.

And then Sherlock did indeed find himself pushed up against a wall, well, door, with John pressed against him. He was breathless.

There were no silly butterflies fluttering around his stomach. They were smoldering dragons.

Sherlock’s hands gripped John’s arse as they had gripped the table earlier, and his erection was back, bulging, hurting, rubbing against John’s.

“For science,” John whispered in his ear as they broke apart, and then he was on his knees in front of Sherlock, being very busy closely inspecting the exact pigmentation of Sherlock’s already sticky meatus while Sherlock was stretching his vocal chords out into deep moans.

As John tried to steal another kiss, mouth sticky from Sherlock’s cum, he was lifted off his little feet and pushed onto Sherlock’s bed with a hastily muttered ‘For science’ before he felt his best friend’s hot mouth around his throbbing cock.

That day the world’s only consulting detective concluded that, in John’s case at least, it was true. And the drawings he had seen were mostly accurate too. It was what John looked like cuddled into his chest.


End file.
